Pigtails and Weasley
by bbeellaa
Summary: George falls in love, now he just needs to make the girl like him. How the twin left behind learns to smile again and, of course, learns to make another smile again too. But she's hiding a secret that will threaten everything. Love/hate GxOC
1. Chapter 1

Days are filled with so many jokes, smiles and laughter. They become so common that what you, at one moment, found to be hilarious is completely forgotten in the next moment as you chortle and chuckle over some newly found amusement. At least, that's what it is like until you lose your reason for cheer. George hadn't smiled, joked or laughed for three whole years, almost to the day. Even approaching a snicker or titter had felt wrong or foreign. Being happy was a sin. Being merely content was treason.

So it's hardly surprising that the day he had met her, the girl that made him smile, was an event unlikely to be forgotten.

He had decided that morning to head to the store after a desperate call from Jordan, the newly hired shop assistant who had found himself running Weasley's Wizard Wheezes rather than assisting. Two weeks on the job, and things were a mess. The store was overrun with customers and over-ordered stock boxes, and under-run in general.

Molly, upon hearing George's plans for the day, couldn't hide her approval.

"Oh well done George," she had said, grabbing him in a tight squeeze, "What an excellent idea!"

"Yes son," agreed Arthur, shaking his hand as if his son had just captained the winning team of the Quidditch World Cup. George was used to this sort of spectacle. Whenever he decided to leave his bedroom, his family were almost instantly beside him, cheering him on in sickening pity.

It was Ron's turn. His brother approached him and patted him on the back. The whole family then joined in, nearly pushing George into the chimney with encouragement.

"If you don't want to come home for dinner, we understand. You might want to sleep in the flat?" offered his mother. Molly had gone too far. That flat was not an option. George didn't respond, instead he grabbed a handful of floo powder and left without a goodbye.

At first he was a little peeved at Jordan for calling and couldn't imagine the store being as chaotic as he said, but upon arriving he felt a little sympathetic. Nothing was ordered. Products were strewn everywhere. Customers, mainly troublesome, prepubescent boys, were making a muck of things. Perhaps this was the distraction George had needed. He usually spent is time locked in his room, experimenting with new products.

Almost four hours had passed, and still he had only accomplished a fraction of what needed to be done. It was five o'clock now, and customers were dwindling. Jordan had gone home so George had to continue unloading the stock and service the customers as well. He was unpacking the last of the boxes in the front corner of the store when a woman walked past him, a scowl on her face, a briefcase in her hand.

"Can I help you with anything?" he asked, standing up. The woman flicked her head around, her long black braids fanning with the movement, and looked at George coldly through her glasses. She was dressed in a pants suit in grim grey; her attire contradicting the youth of her face. She must have been about George's age.

"No, thank you."

After three years of his entire acquaintance tip-toeing around his feelings, the woman's iciness surprised him more than it should have. He watched her continue to stalk the shelves of the store, looking up and down for something unknown.

"Excuse me, are you Fred or George?" A boy's voice, from somewhere closer to his feet than his head, broke his gaze.

"George."

The boy, with a face shaped like a hot air balloon, seemed satisfied and directed him to the counter.

"Can you tell me what this does?" He pointed to a dart on the table. It was long and thin, except for the royal blue pouch opposite the pointy end.

"A Speriloco," George answered, "It's enchanted so when you direct it at a target, it makes their skin change colour. This one is blue."

The boy smiled a toothless grin, his cheeks ballooning even more, "Wicked. How much is it?"

"10 Galleons."

His smile ended and his face contorted into deep thought. His eyes narrowed on George.

"That's an awful lot of money. How do I know it works?"

"All our products come with a guarantee." George observed that the young boy didn't appear to know what 'guarantee' meant; his bright blue eyes remained narrowed in suspicion. He look forced an idea into his mind.

"How about we test it?"

"Really?" Now the child was wide-eyed.

"Watch and learn," George answered, picking up the dart and aiming for the back of the girl who had dismissed him before, "How about pigtails?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, a devious grin on his face.

With a flick of his wrist George cried, "Epiderminus!" and the dart flew into the air straight for the girl. She turned quickly, her wand at the ready, and waved it at the missile. It looped, hovered and redirected itself for the boy.

Just before it reached him she exclaimed, "Expulso!" and the little sack of blue exploded, spilling gunk over the boy's head and the surrounding displays.

"Believe it works now?" she smirked. The slight smile caught George's attention and made him doubt the possibility that this girl could have an icy bone in her body. Her eyes were alight, framed by her tortoiseshell spectacles. Her cheeks flushed.

He followed her eyes down to the boy now covered in blue slime. He raised his eyebrows at George, impressed. George looked back up.

The woman's eyes flicked to him and her expression turned sour. There was the face he remembered.

"And they aren't pigtails, they're plaits," she said. Once again she was rude and unfeeling, but now her tone was surprisingly refreshing. She tucked her wand into her jacket and began to walk out of the store; ultimately unsuccessful in her search. As she strutted off, George watched the loose plaits bounce off her shoulders and fall down her spine, reaching down to the small of her back.

And he smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Polishing the counter for the hundredth time, George couldn't answer Jordan's question of why he kept staring after the door. He didn't even feel himself doing it; but every thirty seconds his eyes would dart up, search the front windows of the store and then look down, disappointed. It was a quiet day at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes as Mondays always were.

"Did you want to clean that or should I?" Jordan asked, indicating to the blue splodge of paint on a nearby shelf.

"No, just leave it," George sighed. He felt down. Well, he always felt down. But this time it was different. He had smiled. He had opened up the possibility of being happy, but now the source was gone. He was in withdrawal.

Jordan nodded in amusement. He had only ever seen George depressed but he knew that this despondent mood was something different. Glancing at his employer scrubbing down the almost sparkling counter he knowingly smiled. Something had happened, or rather someone had happened; someone who, Jordan was sure, had something to do with the blue splodges he was asked to leave.

Feeling his arm's muscles tinge with overuse, George stopped cleaning and bent down underneath the counter to swap the now raggedy cloth he had been using with a new one.

"Hey," he began while opening a new packet, "Yesterday when you opened, were there any customers?"

"No," answered Jordan, smirking before innocently asking, "Why?"

Before George could reply, the shop bell rattled with the front door opening. Still hidden beneath the counter, his eyes opened wide and his ear pricked to hear quiet footsteps. He adjusted himself; fixing his tie, smoothing over his pants before peering up.

The girl was there, looking over the shelves in the exact spot where she had finished only a few days ago. Today she wasn't wearing the formal attire. Instead she wore jeans and a brown leather jacket, her hair chucked upon her head in a messy pony tail.

Without even thinking George said, "I suppose I shouldn't bother asking if you need any help?"

This time she didn't turn around to glare at him, though she remained unfeeling, "No. I can find it myself thank you."

Jordan had watched the whole exchange from the corner of the shop; he had seen George beneath the counter, seen how his body changed as he peered up at the girl and seen how he gazed after her, subtly. Wisely he decided that this was a fantastic time for a lunch break.

"George, I'm taking my break."

"Yeah. Whatever."

George strayed from behind the counter and walked over to the potential customer.

"If you're looking for something specific it might be easier just to tell me."

"It might be easier for me to actually find something in this store if it was well maintained," she replied, kicking a stock box at her feet so hard into his stride, George almost tripped. She continued walking.

He winced, his shins burning, "Sorry, understaffed," before picking up the said box and unpacking it at the counter. He wasn't entirely sure what the product was; his eyes rarely looked down to what he was unpacking. Instead they imperceptibly followed the woman as she made her way around the room. She had reached the back corner when George reached his hand into the box only to find nothing left to empty.

As she sighed with impatience he asked, "Still haven't found what you're looking for? You know I'm beginning to think you just want to spend time with me pigtails."

George hadn't realised it at that moment, but it was the first time since Fred's death that he had even approached a joke. The girl replied with an equal amount of sarcasm and scoffed.

"Spend time with you Weasley?"

He strolled over to where she was, his hands in his pockets.

"It's George actually. Weasley's the last name."

She turned and gave him a quick glower, emphasising every syllable, "I know who you are."

So there was the reason for her hostility. Well, sort of. This little fact she had revealed seemed to provide more questions than it did answers.

George tried at another joke, "Why do I get the impression that that's a bad thing? Did you go to Hogwarts then?"

"I—Ah found them!" A smile spread across her face, entrancing him for a moment. Again he questioned himself; how could have ever thought this girl was cold-hearted? Sparks were lit in her eyes, and George found himself thinking that grey was the most beautiful colour he had ever seen.

She held up a handful of brass trappers, "How much are these?"

"10 galleons each."

"You should really put up signs with the prices," she said, analysing the pile in her hand, "I'll take forty."

"Did you say forty?" The store rarely had such large orders; in fact, this might have been the largest. Understandably, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes appealed to a certain demographic with the purpose of conducting singular pranks. This customer didn't fit the demographic obviously, and she hardly seemed to be the joker type.

"Yes. Something wrong?"

"Nothing it's just…"

"It's just you can't count that high? I'll make it easy for you." She scooped a bundle into her bag and turned to walk off.

Dazed from her audacity George almost forgot to ask, "You going to pay for that?"

"Look behind you," she answered without turning around.

He obeyed her and turned to see a pyramid of coins on the counter.

…

George expected never to see her again, after her purchase. But a few weeks later she walked into the store; opening the door lightly and trying not to make a sound. He had been at the back of the shop, adjusting a few displays when he saw her tiptoe over to where the trappers were stored previously.

"There on the other side," he called out. At the sound of his voice she jumped and clutched her heart before turning around to see him standing, as usual, with his hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled up and hair almost hiding his eyes.

"Trying to avoid someone?" he continued. Ignoring him, she walked over to the other side of the store and found the familiar brass knobs dumped on a shelf.

"Why did you move them for?" George had been up all night readjusting the entire store after her previous visit. Unsurprisingly, the girl's advice had been useful and many customers had already made comments about the improved shop.

"Someone advised me that my store needed more maintenance."

It was funny now how the sarcasm flowed naturally, almost as if it gone away. The woman observed what he said, noticing price labels across most of the shelves. She began to beam when she noticed the label for the brass trappers.

10 16 galleons.

"16 galleons?" she asked incredulously.

"Maintenance costs money," George shrugged. He tried to wipe the smirk off his face, but he couldn't help relishing in her frustration.

"Ironic isn't it? The product I want to buy is the only product that has gone up in price."

"It's in high demand." She turned once more and observed the overstocked shelves, biting her tongue in order not to encourage George's foolish interest in annoying her. Instead of retorting with a flashy comeback, she picked up a large pile without counting and placed it on the counter.

"You know I'll be needing a few more of these as time goes along. Do you have a delivery system perhaps?" she asked as civilly as possibly.

"No," replied George, aghast, "I never approved of those. Less customer contact."

"Oh what a shame."

He slowly began to count each knob, painstakingly.

"Any time this century? I do have other engagements."

"Sorry bad counter." The woman sighed, audibly. Just as she expected George smirked at her, but then looked down at the pile before returning his deep gaze to her eyes.

"What are you staring at?"

"I swear I've seen you before. You did go to Hogwarts didn't you? Were you in Gryffindor?"

"How much?" she refused.

"1600 galleons. Hufflepuff?"

She thrusted her hand into her hand into her bag to find some coins.

"I swear I've bumped into you before," George continued, undeterred by her refusal to answer him. His nonchalant statement threw her blood into a frenzy of fire. She slammed the money on the table, refused a bag and began to chuck the trappers forcefully into her purse.

"Oh, we never bumped. You and I operated in very different circles. While I spent my time in the library hiding, you and your brother were crusading the corridors, assailing students that were just like me."

Even with the knowledge of this girl's temper and iciness, her statement and tone caught George by surprise. It wasn't just cold or angry, it was furious. She stormed off. He had an idea of what he could say. But it was risky. It might make her explode.

Or it could make her smile.

"Oh, God, don't tell me Slytherin." She stopped for a second, her back turned. George waited, hesitated, unable to guess whether his line had worked or not.

"Just tell me what your name is," he continued, "Or I'll have to refer to you always as pigtails."

The girl continued to walk, reaching the door and turning back.

"Not Slytherin."

And then she smiled. Not her usual smirk. Not a polite grin. A teeth-showing, mind-blowing (at least for George), perfect smile.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a few weeks later, a Saturday, a busy day when the girl charged into the store again. As George saw her head straight for the usual shelf, weaving through children, dodging spells and enchantments with a frown, he realised that perhaps the only thing she detested more than George was his business. Clearly she wasn't the prankster type. She glared at the little boys running around in circles, pointing Sperilocos at each other. Especially the boy who still had a trace of blue stained on his face.

The frown wore off and was replaced by confusion as she observed the displays of trappers. The bottom shelves had her usual purchase while above her head was a so-called 'new and improved version'. George approached her, a box of love potions in his hands.

"Excuse me," she said, but he continued walking as if he hadn't seen her. Dropping the box off at the front of the store, he returned to get another one.

"Hello can I—"

He continued walking, trying desperately to conceal his laughter. Again he dropped the box at the front of the store, this time returning to the counter to process a payment. After giving the boy his change, she walked over.

"Weasley can I—"

"Just a moment ma'am," he interrupted, leaving the counter for no apparent reason.

"Ma'am?" the girl said to herself, her face contorting into a mixture of frustration and confusion. The store was busy, there was no mistaking it. But she knew that George was ignoring her pleas on purpose, in typical George-fashion. Instead of striking a fuss, or just walking out of the store, she pulled up a stool and sat on it, observing the shop as the customers slowly dwindled and finally her menace was empty-handed.

He walked over to her, a smirk hiding beneath his lips.

"Sorry, did you need any help?"

"I did," she snarled, "About an hour ago."

He nodded calmly, "Okay then," before walking off in the opposite direction. The woman threw her arms into the air as she rose from the stool.

"Wait! I need help." George slowly turned.

"You need help?" he asked with mock-surprise.

"Funny," she rolled her eyes, "I just wondered what the difference is between the brass ones I normally get, and those new ones in gold."

"About 8 galleons."

"I can subtract. I meant in quality."

"Oh right. Well they are a big improvement. Better sensors and radar detection. Updated with better enchantments."

"Right. Well I'll take another 40," she nodded as George looked at her quizzically. She looked toward the gold trappers, indicating their height.

"There's a stool, right there," he responded.

She tried the same technique as before; not chucking a fuss. Her mother had always told her that the best way to discourage a tormenter was to ignore them. Her plan would have been perfect except the stool was too short. George smiled as she desperately threw her finger tips in the air to no avail.

"Weasley."

"Yeah?" he answered offhandedly.

"I still can't reach."

"Need a boost?"

"No, I need you to do your job and get them for me," the girl flared, crossing her arms. George had won.

"Yes ma'am."

"Why are you calling me ma'am? I'm younger than you are!"

"If I knew your name, maybe I would stop." She remained on the stool as he reached for trappers, their eyes aligned with it making up the difference in their heights, "You know, there's a very simple spell that you could have used to get the—"

"I know that spell. I just don't have a wand with me at the moment."

They both walked over to the counter.

"That will be 600 galleons." He had lowered the price.

_Smart move_, the girl thought to herself. She reached into her bag and fumbled around for the money before looking up. George saw her expression instantly change, like a cat upon hearing a suspicious noise. Her eyes squinted slightly and her body gave an infinitesimal shudder. And then she bolted.

George looked behind him for the coins, remembering the second time they had met. The counter was bare.

"You forgot to pay!"

She dropped the bag of trappers and they crashed to floor. Some bounced away, breaking off into pieces. Others were shattered on collision. Within a second she was at the door, ripping it open and sprinting outside.

"Machiavellius!" he heard her growl. She stood in the street, a coarse wind blowing through her wild hair. George walked over to the window, stepping over the debris and hiding himself behind a display to watch her. At the sound of her voice, a man a few metres down the road, surrounded by a posse of colossal men, stopped in his tracks and turned around. He was tall and thin, with a black crew cut unsuited to his gangly frame. The man swallowed and appeared to be frightened of her but seconds later collected himself and smiled. George squinted. It looked like… When he smiled he almost passed for Mearim; the Defence against the Dark Arts minister at the ministry.

Mearim. George racked his brain for the minister's first name. It was m-something. It could have been Machiavellius, but he wasn't sure. The man spoke, "Sieva Freeman, what a pleasure."

Sieva Freeman. George repeated the name in his mind delicately as if it was a rose he was picking for a bouquet.

The Mearim look alike turned to his friends and scoffed, "Sorry everyone. I'm sure this is just a minor run in with my stalker."

"Stalker?" Sieva spat, "You know I want to do a whole lot more than stalk you."

Machiavellius feigned amusement, but both George and Sieva could see the fear in the trembling of his lips as he gulped at the biting wind, "And they let you out of St Mungo's psyche ward so soon?"

Sieva was quick to retort, "Why don't you quit hiding behind your quick remarks and accept my challenge?"

Now the fear was gone and Machiavellius grinned, revealing skinny, stained teeth, "If you insist. How about that duel _right now_?"

"I can't—," she hesitated. His followers snorted with laughter.

"Ah, yes the excuses pour forth." The longer that George stared at the man, the more he became convinced that it was in fact Mearim.

Sieva took no notice of her acquaintance's burly friends, coming right out with an open threat, "If I had my wand, you'd be dead already."

"Then may Merlin bless whoever it is that took that wand from you. He has committed a great service to me." He spoke slowly, emphasising each word. George knotted his eyebrows in confusion. When had Sieva said anything about her wand being stolen? She hadn't. The man turned to walk away, only pausing upon hearing her assured words.

"I will get it back Machiavellius. And when I do, you should be ready."

He stalked off, his followers forming a tight circle around him as he walked. George watched as Sieva stood surveying him until he became a small black dot in the distance. With his figure shrinking she swallowed heavily and headed back toward the store. Her grey eyes were focused and yet distanced, as if disturbed by a distant memory.

As she opened the door, George bit his lip. They both remained silent, and for once he was unsure of what to say to her. She didn't appear to notice his awkwardness; instead she despondently took a quick, deep breath upon seeing the smithereens of the trappers and moved to her knees instantly to pick them up.

Her hands quivered slightly. Seeing this sudden evidence of Sieva's vulnerability, George was moved to dash to the ground and help her pick up the pieces. Her slender hands reached for a ball but they trembled so that it slipped from her grasp. His hand shot to catch it and return it to her palm, his warm fingers accidently just tracing the beginnings of her wrist. She pulled away and stood.

"I'm sorry. I'll pay for these. And I'll take another forty."

They were back to where they were.

George grabbed another forty and placed them on the counter, hesitating, "I'm not sure I should be selling these to you if you're intending their use to be for sinister purposes."

"I'd need more than forty to do anything approaching sinister to Machiavellius, his entourage numbers into the hundreds." Her matter-of-fact tone suggested she had already thought of the idea.

"How did you end up in a scrub with him?" George asked, as sincerely as possible.

"How much?" she interjected.

"900 galleons."

This time she had the money ready and she slid it over on the table before turning away.

"Sieva!"

She paused. He knew her name now, and they were both as secretly surprised as the other at how naturally it flowed from his mouth.

"I don't want to intrude but—," he began.

"Then don't!" George ignored her hardness and walked over to her, a brown box in his hands. She stopped her protest upon realising it was intended for her.

"Look you might find this handy. I've been developing it for a few months now. I sort of meant it for the clumsy, forgetful type. But it should work just as well for something that has been stolen."

Sieva took it from his hand, careful this time not to touch his skin.

"How much is it?" she asked softly. George shook his head subtly indicating it was a gift.

Ashamed of her previous assumption, she attempted sincerity, "Thanks."

He nodded shyly and she turned once more to walk out. Reaching the door, she opened it and looked at him one last time before leaving, "Next time, don't listen to my conversations. For your own sake."


	4. Chapter 4

Hang on for the next chapter, it's a Hogwarts Flashback! Figure out why Sieva detested (notice past tense) George so much and find out more about her past!

Oh and a disclaimer is supposed to go here, but I think everyone knows I didn't write Harry Potter.

…

Molly nudged Ron and Ginny for their attention as she observed George sitting in the kitchen. There was a jar of homemade honey on the table and instead spreading it on his toast, which was quickly becoming cold, her son was dipping the knife into the honey, lifting it out, twirling it around and watching the gold liquid drip back into the jar.

"Maybe he is sick," Ron suggested.

"Maybe its Fred," added his mother. Ginny scoffed.

"You two are pathetic. He's in love," she said.

Ron and Molly looked at her in shock before returning their gazes to George. He had his head resting on his palm and sighed to himself as he continued fiddling with the knife. Seeing the flash of recognition on their faces, Ginny smiled.

"Told you," she whispered, walking off and mimicking Ron, "_Maybe he's sick_."

Mrs Weasley and her youngest son remained glued to the spot, looking back and forth between each other. George in love? But who was there for him to fall in love with?

"I don't get it, he's only ever at the shop."

Molly shrugged, "Maybe it's a customer."

"But all his customers are little boys." Their eyes darted to each other. Molly shook her head and walked into the kitchen where George had completely missed the conversation about his love life. She grabbed his hand to stop it from twirling the honey.

"What's wrong Georgie?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm bored, with the shop closed for the Good Friday holiday."

"Why don't you visit dad for lunch?"

George agreed to, only because it gave him an excuse to walk through Diagon Alley on his way back. After packing some homemade lunches, he used the floo powder to arrive at the ministry by lunch time. Walking through the empty circular foyer, George entered the lift. He knew he had to get to level 49 but after that he was completely lost. The lift stopped a few times, letting out passengers here and there, letting in few as well. By the time he saw the light illuminate level 33 he was alone in the cart. The doors opened, revealing Sieva and a tubby, middle-aged man.

They spotted each other immediately, looking up at the same moment. Upon seeing him Sieva didn't hear a word that her friend was saying; there was not a sound on earth resounding in either of their ears as they studied each other's eyes for one precise second. George's were serious now, but still blazing as much as when he clowned. Hers were overcast clouds, damp with grey and withheld tears.

_She works at the ministry_, George thought to himself. _That explains a lot_.

Sieva's friend noticed her staring, glancing back and forth between the pair of them before settling on George.

"Say, are you Arthur's boy?"

He broke his eyes from hers, "That I am."

"Bill, Charlie, Perc—?" the man began to question.

"I'm George."

"George?" then came the realisation and inevitable pity, "Oh. Right. George. Sieva, this is Weasley's boy."

"Hello," she nodded, her voice low.

The cart rumbled to a stop and the doors dinged open, letting the man out.

Alone, they looked toward each other, George was smiling and on the edge of words. In that split second as he was about to speak, Sieva found her mind wandering. Wandering toward thoughts of how that smile was contagious, how it made her want to giggle like a little girl and look down at her feet, tug at her clothes, and blush scarlet. _Stop it_, she commanded herself.

There was no need for such a command. Two mature ladies entered the elevator and Sieva and George's heads darted in opposite directions. The women smiled politely before continuing with their gossip.

"Now I don't know who it is exactly. I don't really mind; just get them out of here. Surely security issues arise in the situation of this girl, a delusional, recluse of a woman, working within the ministry. Important stuff happens here," the first one said, her arms waving about.

"You're absolutely right Murna. Eight months in Mungos she did."

"Should have been more like 8 years. All those false accusations she made, involving Machiavellius. The gall of her," the first woman paused, "You know who it might be, Dora Singlegood. She's always walking about muttering to herself. Making such commotions."

In his peripheral vision, George saw Sieva make a subtle face of disgust; a confirmation that this 'recluse of a woman', who had spent 8 months in Mungos, was in fact her.

"Yes, yes. Or maybe—," the other lady began.

"I've always believed," said Sieva, butting in and forcing all eyes on her, "that it's the quiet ones you ought to look out for. This - delusional did you call her? - well she's probably who you'd least expect. Those mental cases know how to hide themselves, _trust me_."

The ladies nodded in agreement and were about to thank the young girl for her two cents when the doors opened and she pushed passed them.

"Excuse me," she spoke harshly.

Dazed by the quick occurrence, George almost missed the doors. It was level 49. He brushed passed the women and stepped out into a marble corridor, turning a corner and spotting Sieva leaning against the wall, her head in her hands.

He thought maybe she was crying, but when her chilled voice questioned sarcastically, "Can I help you Weasley?" from behind those hands, he realised that it would be a rarity to see a girl like Sieva cry.

"How did you know it was me?" She dropped her hands and gave him a worn look.

"Yes actually," he continued, not bothering with his previous question, "Could you tell me how to get to my dad's office?"

"Down that corridor, turn left then second right."

"Thanks," he smiled and turned to follow her directions. Sieva sighed, why did only a few seconds with Weasley make her feel like she had run a marathon? He was so energy-consuming. He was so frustrating. He was so—he was turning back around. _Oh God, what now_, she thought to herself.

"By the way, I didn't listen to a word of that conversation," George smirked, referring to her previous warning. Sieva began to half smile as he walked on, almost forgetting what those ladies had said only minutes earlier. She shifted her weight off the wall, turning her head at the last moment to see him turn the corner, before gliding back to her desk.


	5. Chapter 5

As Sieva sat at her desk, she felt her body go a little numb. Especially in the area around her ribcage, around her lungs, around that thing in her chest that was supposed to be beating but had suddenly been stunned. She picked up a pen to scribble something down, but her letters turned to gibberish. She chucked the pen away, annoyed. She picked up some papers on her desk to organise, but found herself shuffling them like a deck of cards. Her colleagues watched on as she chucked them in the disposal bin, and paced around her office.

It was Weasley's fault, of course. Everything was his fault. Why did he have to keep flashing that smile around her, reminding her of school? Remembering how he had smirked before walking away only five minutes ago, memories of years past flooded in her mind.

The group of friends she had had, they were all Ravenclaw of course, weren't always interested in books and potions and spells like she was. A natural tendency of Ravenclaws, it seemed, was an interest in –or rather an attraction to– students that exhibited the opposite of a love for wit and learning. While Sieva made notes on topics not yet discussed in class, her friends oohed and ahhed over the 'cool' seniors; the Cedric Diggorys of Hufflepuff, the Malfoys of Slytherin that were always acting tough about something, and the –well everyone– of Gryffindor that were always getting in duels, defending friends' honour, being brave.

But Sieva thought Hufflepuff were boring, and she hated Slytherin, and Gryffindor… well Gryffindor were _okay_. So while her friends gossiped about guys that didn't even know they existed, Sieva became the model student. Until—

Sieva consciously stopped her memory from spilling any further. She felt the gaze of her colleagues and quickly drew the blinds of her office, before going back 9 years.

They were sitting in the Great Hall, Sieva's head buried in a book, when her friends put away their homework for the usual pre-dinner fantasising. This day's topic of discussion? Gryffindor. Her friend Sarah was drooling over Harry Potter. It was just after the whole Sirius Black escape/Professor Lupin being a werewolf saga that the whole school had somehow heard through the grapevine.

"He's so strong and brave," she whispered.

"He'd never go for you," another friend piped in, "You might be able to get one of his friend's though."

"Seamus is okay," the other one continued, "Or what about Ron Weasley?"

"Hmmm. I've never really fancied redheads."

"My sister is friends with his brother Bill. He is so handsome. He has long hair and he wears it in a ponytail and he has an earring."

"You're practically stalking him," Sieva commented, her head peering over her books.

"That Ginny girl is his sister. I hear she has a thing for Harry."

"Don't worry Sarah, you can take her on."

They all laughed until Bill's stalker hushed them and indicated her head to the Gryffindor table, "Look, there's the Weasley twins," she said. The group casually glanced their way.

"On second thoughts, I think I like Fred the best of the family," she continued.

"He's a twin," Sarah laughed, "Doesn't that make him tied with George?"

"No. They are different. George is the quieter one. Fred is the one that comes up with the ideas. He's the funny one. And he has an incredible smile." The group fawned over his smile as Sieva looked up. Fred was the louder one; the ideas one. But Sieva didn't see why that made him more likeable. Their jokes seemed quite juvenile to her.

He did have a nice smile though. The twins were sitting with their brother Ron, Fred teasing him about something. Suddenly Ron burst into laughter, joining Fred, and then George joined in. She watched how his smile began on the left side of his face first, and then spread to the right. The girls were right, the twins were different. But Sieva found herself believing it was George who was the most likeable. She watched how his eyes sparked, how he had this energy about him, this confidence, that she only felt when in the classroom. How did it feel, she wondered, to be that blissful all the time? It had seemed to Sieva that she had never felt the amount of simple joy George showed in one moment in an entire lifetime. Things might have been different if her father hadn't been killed.

"Oi!" one of her friends whispered. She didn't pay attention to their conversation, she just continued watching.

"Hello," another trailed off. The group of girls burst into laughter. It woke Sieva from her gaze.

"Take a picture," one of her friends teased, "It will last longer."

She blushed, "Ah, sorry. I was just, ah—."

"Stalking?"

"I'm going to go to the library," Sieva announced.

As she stood up to pack away her books, her eyes darted once more to the table of Gryffindors. This time they looked back at her, oddly. She hoped they hadn't seen her staring. Her friends had gone back to their drooling, unaware of anything odd. Sieva picked up her belongings and walked briskly past the Weasley's as they whispered and sniggered.

Turning her head for one last glance, the world suddenly tilted, catching her feet and forcing her to the floor. Connecting to the ground hard and with a crack, pain shot through her knees before going numb. Her books were strewn everywhere. Sieva heard a few gasps and splutters, and one of her friends had called out her name but she couldn't reply. Her breath had been knocked out of her and her face turned scarlet. She had hoped that George hadn't seen her trip.

Trying to stand, a force tripped her over again, sending the observers into more fits of gasps and giggles. She tried shifting her weight again but failed; like a worm out of the dirt, she wriggled and jiggled pathetically but to no avail, only tripping once more. It felt as though there was something binding her feet together. She clawed at her angles, desperate to break free.

It was then, as she was just about to crawl up into a little ball from embarrassment, that Hermione Granger skipped up to her and pulled out her wand.

"Revelio!" she commanded, and a thin silver rope made itself apparent around Sieva's ankles. Forgetting to thank her, Sieva instantly tried to get the wretched thing off. Her hands shook. Hermione bent down to help her.

"Thanks," she whispered once free, before grabbing her books and limping out of the Hall. As she left she heard her scold the twins.

"She could have been hurt George!"

Out of the Great Hall, she pressed her back against a wall, shielded from sight from everyone. Her eyes wet, she recalled how she had turned her head to glance at George one last time, to feel her heart go giddy at the sight of his smile. She saw the image in her mind, his laughing face rising above her as she slipped and fell. She was so pathetic.

Suddenly, she heard a voice from the shadows. It was a tall, thin man. Perhaps a few years older than herself. With black hair that clung to his face.

"A pretty girl like you shouldn't be crying," he cooed before holding out a handkerchief for her to use, "Take this, and keep it. I hope we shall meet again soon."

The man began to walk away.

"Thank you…" Sieva began, pausing without knowledge of his name.

"Machiavellius," he replied, "My name is Machiavellius Mearim."


	6. Chapter 6

Thing heat up next chapter with confrontations and threats. Stay tuned!

…

Sieva stuffed her bag with the papers she'd failed to finalise. Her mind had been all over the place from the unexpected encounter with Weasley. It was now 5 o'clock, and she still hadn't accomplished anything since bumping into him in the elevator. She decided to take her work home; perhaps she'd achieve something there.

Walking through the corridors she had daydreamed in only hours before, Sieva made a dash for the open elevator as it was about to close.

"Hold the elevator!" she urged. A hand from inside shot out against the doors, forcing them open, as she slid into the cart. She stumbled a little, her heels not prime for sliding. Letting a sigh of relief, she turned to thank the owner of the hand. It was George.

George had watched Sieva skid into the elevator, quietly observing her reserved smile as she realised she'd made it without falling over. Now they were face to face. He tried to hide the shy smile developing on his lips.

Arthur had missed most of what had happened. He hadn't sensed the tension in the cart as his son and his colleague faced in each in silence. He hadn't recognised Sieva's embarrassment as she turned pink and looked down at her shoes.

Instead he asked her, "What are your plans this Easter?"

She looked back up sharply, a bit of hair breaking free from her braids and messy bun and falling haphazardly over her eyes, "I don't have any."

"Not visiting any family this year?" he pressed.

"I don't have any." Sieva hadn't meant her answer to seem abrupt but it was the truth. She didn't realise the awkwardness it caused until moments after speaking.

"Oh," said Arthur.

She tried to lift the mood, "Oh, but I have a cat. So, um… We'll probably…" She fell silent. The ding of the elevator rang and the doors opened. With a friendly nod, Arthur followed his son from the cart, before turning back around and holding the doors open.

"Hey Sieva, how would you like to spend Easter with us?" he asked. George and Sieva looked straight at each other, their mouths falling open subtly.

"Oh really," she began, "You don't have to do that."

"No I insist. I mean, only if you want to. Molly loves guests. She won't mind a bit… Well just let me know."

Arthur moved from the doors to walk off but suddenly returned with a sly smile, "Oh and this is my son, George." George gave his father a terse look. Now all he needed was his dad to say something embarrassing.

"Hello," Sieva said low and abruptly. Arthur nudged his son.

"Hello," he replied, equally as concise. The doors closed, leaving each party self-consciously standing feet splayed and eyes downward.

…

A week later George was adjusting some displays in the store when he saw Sieva walk past the shop window. He jumped down below the shelves, peeking up to see her walk off. Checking that Jordan missed it, he stood up, shaking off the awkward behaviour with a quiver of his head.

"You know what," he said to himself with a smile, "I think it's time for a sale."

The next day, the store was wildly chaotic. George had begun hanging up sale posters with 'Up to 40% off! Plus 90% off trappers for special customers!' since 8am, increasing the usual flow of customers double fold.

Jordan was on the registers while he continued with the displays. George wanted to keep an eye on the street outside to see if Sieva was approaching, so he stuck by the front windows, finding excuses to tidy and adjust the posters. He stood on a ladder, straightening a sale sign when a boy poked him.

"Excuse me."

"Yes?" George turned.

"Am I a special customer?" the boy asked.

"What?"

"Do I get 90% off these things?" He held a box of gold trappers in his hands, his dirty fingers smudging the shine of them.

"No. Sorry," George replied, his answer fragmented, "That's only for… certain customers, who spend a certain amount, and buy a certain amount and look a… certain way."

The little boy looked disappointed. George returned to his sign.

"Are these really 90% off?" another boy called from behind him.

"No," he sighed, "Only for special customers."

"I'm not special?" the kid sniffed.

"No." Once more George returned to the sign.

A few minutes later a voice called, "Weasley!" George groaned, believing it was another idiot boy, searching for a bargain.

A woman's voice continued, "You know you really need to fix that understaffing problem." George turned, seeing Sieva's familiar black, messy hair. In shock his feet made muddled steps and he slipped off the ladder, regaining his balance by heaving his body onto a nearby display, sending its products crashing to the floor. The surrounding children laughed, and Sieva let out a small giggle. Embarrassed, George went for a joke.

"Any chance you want to quit working for the ministry and be a… what do muggles call it? A check out chick?"

"Strangely, no," she smiled. They both shyly laughed, before returning to silence.

"Did you need help getting the—?" he indicated toward the shelf of trappers.

"No, thank you," she replied, her usual answer. But this time she felt compelled to explain why she was dismissing him. "I-I have my wand back…" she nodded, before walking off with another small smile.

George watched after her as she walked, until his gaze was commanded by another. The boy who had so disappointingly missed out on the trapper sale stared at him in disgust.

"What?" George asked.

The child shook his head, "Smooth."

Sieva had easily reached for the trappers, with the aide of her wand, and was now lining up in the long queue. Irritated from the boy's comments, George watched her as she reached the front of the line. Giving the same boy a wink, he jogged to the counter.

"Ah, hey Jordan. Would you mind putting up the rest of the posters? I – ah, hurt my back." Jordan walked away without a word, in his mind he understood at once.

"So that fall did some damage hey?" Sieva teased.

"Oh, no I was—I mean it was already quite sore." She put her handfuls of trappers on the table.

"Another forty?"

"Eighty actually. Buying in bulk since it's a sale."

"Right, yeah. 90% off these guys," he nodded offhandedly.

A boy behind Sieva frowned and stamped his foot, "How is she more special than me?" George ignored him.

"Decided if you're accepting the invite to the Weasley Easter celebrations?"

Her expression grew anxious, "I'm not sure… I – I have a few things to organise that day…"

George decided not to press the issue, "230 galleons."

She handed him the money, before accepting the bag of trappers with a smile and walking out. The child that was behind her retained his frown, stomped up to the counter (which was a foot too high for him) and slammed his choice of products on the table.

Catching Jordan's eye, George called out, "Register open!"


	7. Chapter 7

An extra-long chapter for you guys, looking forward to more reviews!

Next chapter, find out why Sieva and Machiavellius are enemies

…

A day later, George was below the counter, restocking a few things after the chaotic sale day. Half the stock had been bought, and although customers had a lot of savings, the sales had been excellent for business. He pulled out the stock list and placed it on the counter, standing up. It was enchanted to show real time readings of product levels. Scanning his finger down the page, George smiled as he observed the net value of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

He quickly glanced upwards to check for customers when he noticed Machiavellius and his guard dogs positioned around him, intending to be intimidating. Had it have been any other person, Percy perhaps, they would have succeeded. But this was George.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I've recently seen a young woman, Sieva Freeman, exit your store quite frequently," Machiavellius began, taking planned steps toward the counter, "I want to know what she has purchased on every occasion, thank you."

"Um," George paused, "No."

"No?" Machiavellius questioned, shocked.

"No," he shook his head.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Do _you_ know who _I_ am?"

"No," Machiavellius said slowly, in confusion.

"I'm George Weasley," George smiled and held out his hand, but it wasn't shaken. He shrugged. "If you must know she's been purchasing love potions."

"Love potions?"

"Love potions. Trying to attract the boss she said. Had a few hits and misses, but latest batch is sure to do the trick." He made a motion with his hands, joining his index finger and thumb together. Machiavellius pondered what had been said, his eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement.

"Can I interest you in any?" George asked. The question did just the trick. Machiavellius looked at him in disgust before turning and leaving, whistling for his men to follow. Waiting a few seconds after they left, George enchanted the shop sign to say 'CLOSED FOR LUNCH' and apparated to the ministry, Level 49.

It was just how he remembered it, but instead of turning right down the corridor as he had his previous visit, he followed the way he remembered Sieva walking. Coming to a room of offices capsulated by see-through glass, he walked among a maze of boxes until he came face to face with her. The glass separated them by an inch, and yet still George felt a pull toward Sieva. She opened the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"We have to talk," he said, watching her on the edge of protest, "Guess who just walked into my shop." Her eyes immediately grew downcast, understanding who he was referring to.

"Wait. Not here. Come with me." She grabbed George's sleeve and pulled him out of the office before leading him through more corridors. They reached a dead end with a bathroom door labelled with a woman. Sieva pulled out her wand and tapped on the figure, whispering a spell. The woman of the sign and disappeared with a poof. Once more she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside.

"Yes you're right," he jested, "This change of scenery really sets the mood." Sieva was not prepared for any jokes.

"They record every word I speak in my office. Now, what happened? What did he say?"

"He came into the store with his henchmen and interrogated me about what you bought from the shop. He's been watching you." This didn't come as a surprise.

"And what did you say when he asked you?" she asked.

"I said you were buying love potions."

"Good. Good. Thank you," Sieva ran her hand through her hair, loose tendrils falling loosely from her bun. She seemed to think the conversation was now over, and George was eager to inform her it was not.

"If I had to lie for you I want to know why."

"I already told you Weasley, don't get involved." she tried to sound harsh and intimidating, but it hadn't worked. A simple look from George sent her blood fizzing as if it was carbonated; it was almost impossible these days to concentrate around him, let alone form a coherent argument.

"I am already involved," he said before adding, "I'm not sure the love potion excuse is going to hold up for next time."

_Next time._ The thought of Machiavellius making regular visits to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes sent rocks to the base of her throat. Sieva didn't want him having any contact with George at all, it was too dangerous. She almost choked just thinking about it.

"Nothing good ever happens to people who find out my problems," she said solemnly. If by adding a personal touch to her pleas Sieva thought she would deter George, she was mistaken. It only made him push harder.

But his attempts to argue further were disrupted by the scream of a middle aged woman stumbling into the bathroom, shocked by George's appearance. She toddled out again.

"I have to go," Sieva said, thankful for the intrusion, "I've been out of my office too long."

Back in the corridor, George trailed behind her, fully intending to follow Sieva around until she complied with his wishes.

"If you think I'm going to give up that easy your mistaken."

She would have turned around, wand in hand, to threaten him for real this time but she spotted the Minister for magic and his security in her office. She slipped her hand into George's, her heart pounding at the comfort she felt in feeling the security his warmth provided.

"Play along," she mumbled. They walked into the office.

"Sieva," the Minister observed.

"Minister."

"Some highlighted words were picked up by the—," suddenly he noticed George, "Oh are you Weasley's boy?"

Sieva interrupted him, "Minister, it's not what you think. Well actually that depends what you were thinking."

"Yes?" he prompted, happy to hear an explanation.

"You see George and I are in love."

"In love?"

"In love," she affirmed, stumbling through her words with anxiety, "But his family doesn't approve of me. Because…of… obvious reasons. We have to meet in secret." Sieva barely had the courage to look into the Minister's eyes to gage his reaction and whether he believed her excuse.

"I see. Well," he chuckled, "I didn't see a thing." Curiously pleased, the Minister awkwardly toe-rolled before guessing, correctly, that his presence was no longer wanted. He whistled at the other wizards to follow him out of the office. They were gone.

Turning around, Sieva addressed George, "Thank you."

George nodded, "It's fine, I mean—"

"No, thank you," she said again, shaking their hands in front of his face, "You can let go now."

George didn't have time to be embarrassed as he let go of her, she was already pacing up and down her office space, deep in thought.

"Let's meet up tonight," she said slowly, before indicating to an Extendable Ear above her desk.

"Sure darling. Hogsmeade?" he played along.

"No, somewhere private, so we can be alone." Sieva mouthed _your shop._

"What?" George whispered.

_Your shop_, she tried again. George shook his head and shrugged.

_Shop!_ Sieva sighed, grabbed her wand from her pocket and drew the word in the air; its letters illuminated by a spell.

"I knew all along, just teasing," he smirked.

"Ok you can go now."

"Bye sweetheart."

"Bye," she muttered, annoyed.

"Do I get a kiss goodbye sugar pie?" George asked, leaning on the door.

"No."

"Please honey bun."

"No darling. I'm saving all my love for tonight. Now go."

Meanwhile, a few more stories high in the Ministry of Magic, the Minister sat at his desk, the end of an extendable ear in front of him. Hearing the lovers' endearments he smiled, leaning back on his chair. He always loved a good romance.


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, sorry for the long break. This chapter is a short one, it only took me half an hour to write so sorry for the quality, but I just want to hurry and get to the good part of the plot!

Thanks to the constant reviewers!

…

Sieva found her heart pounding as she stepped into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that night. It was cold, dark and damp, but it wasn't the eerie conditions that had her in a panic. As she walked through the now quiet store toward the light at the back she wondered how much she would be tricked into revealing to George tonight.

"George?" she whispered, reaching stairs leading upwards.

"Upstairs!" he replied from above. She followed his direction up the windy wooden staircase that led to the flat on top of the shop. At the top of the landing was a family photo of the Weasley's taken in Egypt. Fred was there with George; the twins in matching outfits.

"In here," George called again, breaking Sieva's focus. She followed the voice into a small lounge room. Without a hello, she began.

"You said there were men with him. How many?"

"Four or five."

"Can you tell me exactly what he said?"

"I've recently seen a young woman, Sieva Freeman, exit your store quite frequently. I want to know what she has purchased on every occasion, thank you," George mimicked Machiavellius' deep, intimidating voice as she paced.

Sieva squinted, deep in thought, "He thinks I'm planning something."

"Are you?" She refused to answer him, instead slumping down on the couch and burying her head in heads, tiredly.

"You made me lie twice Freeman. Tell me."

Sieva sighed. "No, I'm not planning anything. Look, I don't know how long the love potion story is going to hold up," she said before talking to herself, "But I need to keep doing the stock."

"Why? What do you really use the trappers for?"

"Ministry business; to catch unicorn poachers." She suddenly smiled, coyly, "At least that's what my department think. The reason why I want to be the staffer on stock is so I can fudge the numbers a little. Keep some of the trappers for myself without anyone realising."

"Why do you need some?"

"The more I tell you, the worse it is for you. Trust me when I say you don't want to be mixed up in this."

"It's a little late for that now. Machiavellius thinks you're my best clientele and the minister thinks we're having an affair," he spoke harshly, frustrated at her concern.

"I'm sorry," she was truly apologetic. It made George re-examine his previous tone.

"It's okay, I don't mind. I just want to know why I have to lie." He sat down next to her, not too close, but not so far as to relieve Sieva's heartbeat. With George's proximity she struggled to speak.

"Machiavellius and I have a history… We were… involved. And then some things happened; things he has to answer for."

"You're planning to kill him." It was a statement, not a question. Sieva remained silent, showing no emotion on her face; a confirmation. George continued.

"Freeman, this guy is obviously dangerous and threatened by this vendetta campaign you're launching. Maybe it is best if you just come to terms with what he did." Her face melted from expressionless to livid rage. She stood up, grabbing her bags.

"What!"

"Can't you just let it go?" he continued, trying to back step carefully.

"If you had to come face to face with your brother's killer, would you be able to 'let it go'?" George found his face freezing as his eyes studied, memorised Sieva's irate expression. She mistook it for shock at the mention of Fred. Rather Weasley was clinging to this memory and his new understanding of Sieva's loss; the reason for coolness, her distrust, her strong sense of conviction, her burning desire for revenge.

He remembered how she had dropped the bag of trappers at the sight of Machiavellius. How she stepped through the debris of gold to confront him outside. How she had, unfearfully, growled his name. It all made sense now.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up Fred. But I've been waiting 3 years for justice, and that's 3 years too long."

With her final apology she walked out of the room, certain that George would not follow her. He didn't, but he rose a few seconds later to reach the window in time to see Sieva walk in Diagon Alley, her figure downcast and desperate.


	9. Chapter 9

Next chapter: a twist! And George and Sieva's relationship gets a push along.

…

The smell of roast lamb hung in the air surrounding the Burrow. It made Sieva shut her eyes as she savoured the scent. It wasn't because it smelled delicious, which it did, but it was because it brought a picture to mind. Fire place. Cosy dining room. Mismatched plates. Smiles. She opened her eyes again to a view of the back door. Rusty cauldrons and old Wellington boots littered the steps. Chickens clucked at her feet. The nearby garden was dramatically unpruned. Why had she come?

She moved to sit on the cold stone step of the porch, watching the night stars twinkle over the fields entrapping the house. Staring at the sky, she realised why. Away from George, she felt a million years old; as old as those balls of gas burning billions of miles away. But within seconds of seeing him, seeing his unreserved smile, she felt fledgling and new. Somehow, he made her usually hollow insides feel alight and burning inside her.

At first she hid from the feeling, but now Sieva found herself unable to resist it any longer.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mrs Weasley's exclamations, "Is that who I think it is? Sieva darling come inside!" It had been a few months since she had seen Molly; they usually bumped into each other at Ministry functions. She was as bubbly as ever, but had a few extra wrinkles. Sieva picked herself up and walked into her arms, giving Mrs Weasley a tight squeeze.

"We didn't think you were going to come."

"Neither did I," she admitted honestly. Taking her hand, Molly dragged Sieva inside and maintained an arm wrapped around her. In that second George walked past, oblivious to the Burrow's newest guest.

"George," Molly shouted, "Look who just arrived." His eyes widened at the sight of her and remained cautious.

"Hello," he said softly.

"Hello," she replied, her palms resting nervously on her hips.

…

Later, at dinner, Sieva found herself wishing she had rehearsed some answers to the Weasley's questions. She was so unused to people inquiring after her life, she found herself stuttering and spluttering in her every answer. People at work thought she was quiet and odd, and other than that she really had no other social interactions. The family didn't seem to notice her anxiety.

"So what does your job involve?" Percy asked, the more serious of the family.

"I- Well, I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, in a recent division for the protection of Unicorns."

"Do you like your job?" he enquired further.

"Yes, I do—"

Molly cut in, "Are you going to the ball at the ministry?

"It's sort of compulsory for my department. All the money raised is going to our work on poachers."

"Wonderful. Will you be taking anyone?"

"I- I don't think so," she choked on her baked potatoes.

"So you aren't married or living with a partner or…?" Arthur asked.

"No, just me."

"A pretty girl like you?" Mrs Weasley continued, dumbfounded, "On your own? I find that hard to believe." She dropped her knife and fork, clasping her hands together in surprise.

There was an awkward silence with Sieva unsure of how to respond, then Percy asked, "Were you in the Wizarding Wars?"

"Yes." She preferred to answer these sorts of questions over queries into her love life.

"Lose any family?"

Maybe not.

"I lost my father in the first, my mother shortly after." Which was as good as true. After her father died to a death eater late in the War, her mother was never the same. She had finally passed before the start of the Second Wizarding Wars.

George spoke up, cutting into his roast, "Perhaps less of the intrusive questions." The family obeyed his request for only a moment as the room went silent. It gave Sieva the chance to chuck an appreciative glance at George that his little sister picked up. With curiosity, she spoke next.

"Is it true you dated that Machiavellius Mearim?" George kicked Ginny hard under the table.

"What?" she responded, "It's not intrusive. He's _dreamy_."

"Aren't you _engaged_?" he emphasised. Ginny refused to reply, only looking toward Sieva, prompting the whole family, even George, to direct their gazes at her also. She swallowed her mouthful hard before saying blankly, "Yes I did."

"But he's at least a few decades older than you," Ginny continued.

George gulped. That fact had escaped his attention.

"Maybe that's why it didn't end well."

After the round of 'intrusive' questions, Sieva's inquisition ended. The family finished the meal, and dessert relatively quickly allowing her to insist on helping with the dishes, after which Ginny insisted that it was George's turn to do the washing up. The ensuing argument ended with Sieva and George being left alone in the kitchen, with Ginny pushing everyone out to the living room as subtly as possible.

George reminded himself to thank his little sister one day.

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you the other day," Sieva finally managed as she waved the leftovers into a bowl with her wand. George tackled the scrubbing.

"It's okay. Look, I wanted to talk to you about everything. It's clearly not just Mearim who is watching you. It's the ministry too. I think you should just forget about i—"

"What—" she began, but for once was cut off.

"For now, Freeman. Let the ministry believe you've given up. Let Machiavellius believe you've given up. And then eventually you will get your chance." She stood still, dishes piled in her hands, finding herself thinking that perhaps George was right.

"How can I just forget?" she whispered, "He is all I think about."

"I'm sure there are more than enough tricks up my sleeve to preoccupy you."

"You don't have to do that." As she finished speaking, George walked over to grab the plates in her hands, his grasping her fingers gently as he took them. They both fumbled a bit, sending Sieva's cheeks into traffic light red.

He gulped again, before turning around and pretending nothing had just happened, "Well I kind of do. The ministry thinks we are in love and what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't cheer up my sugar pie?" Jokes always saved the day.

"The kind that isn't real?"


End file.
